A Meeting of Two Hands
by Tanba Josav
Summary: It's a long voyage to White Harbour, you have to fill the hours somehow so two Hands sit down to talk about their respective King and Queen. Post Season 7. COMPLETE


Disclaimer: Thank you to George R.R. Martin for creating such a brilliant series of books and thanks to HBO, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss for such a captivating show that keeps us coming back year after year. I make nothing from this, unless you count the promise from the Night King not to turn me into a wight.

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When Davos entered the galley he wasn't all that surprised to see Tyrion Lannister still there, even at this late an hour. The smaller man was sitting at one of the tables, an empty plate in front of him, and his ever present cup of wine by his side.

Tyrion looked up, a broad smile crossing his bearded face, 'Fellow Hand, well met,' he gestured towards a nearby chair, 'come join me.'

Davos grunted at Tyrion's words, 'Don't be daft I'm no one's Hand,' he said, 'I don't have enough fingers for my own hands let alone anyone elses.'

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at Davos's words, 'Well, what would you call yourself then?' he gestured again at the chair across from him. 'You're a little old for a squire, and I don't see Snow needing a personal bodyguard, do you?'

'I'm his friend,' Davos walked over to the table, his weight automatically adjusting to the ever present rocking of the deck beneath his feet.

'Kings and Queens don't need friends,' Tyrion said solemnly, as Davos pulled out a chair and sat down.

'This one does,' Davos replied, 'and I'm no bloody Hand.'

Tyrion leant back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. 'Let me guess,' he began, 'as a friend; you watch Snow's back at all times, you let him voice his doubts and concerns in private so he can show a determined front to the rest of the world, you call him out on his shit and tell him when he is being an idiot. You give advice that he doesn't want to hear and play the role of conscience when you see him beginning to stray.' Tyrion gestured widely about the room. 'Any of these sound familiar?'

Davos nodded, 'Pretty much all of them.'

'Then congratulations Ser Davos,' Tyrion picked up his jug of wine, 'like it or not, that is the role of a Hand. That and sitting in on boring councils and generally running the place when your king, or in my case queen, is off waging war.'

'I don't have to wear one of those stupid pins do I?' Davos nodded towards the fist holding a dagger that symbolised Tyrion's position.

Tyrion looked down at his chest as he was pouring some wine. 'You don't like it? I think it makes me look wise and dashing.'

'Sure,' Davos grinned at the other man, 'you keep telling yourself that.'

Tyrion grinned back at him. 'I do just that, everyday in the mirror.' He began raising his cup and stopped. 'How rude of me,' he nodded towards the jug. 'Would you like some?'

Davos shook his head, 'No, better to keep a clear head. There's a storm coming.'

Tyrion tilted his head at Davos's words. Sure the ship was pitching about more than normal, but he had put that down to them travelling north and the weather becoming more unstable. 'Storm, how can you be sure?'

'Because I've lived almost my entire adult life on the seas,' Davos told him.

Tyrion looked sadly at his cup, 'Why do I get the feeling I'm going to waste most of this good wine over the side of the ship sooner rather than later?' he downed the liquid and poured himself another. 'So, what brings you out at this late hour?'

Davos grunted, 'I don't sleep until his lordship is back in his room.'

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, 'Are they at it again?'

'What do you think?'

'Oh to be that young and eager,' Tyrion raised his cup in salute, 'To the energies of youth.'

Davos shook his head, 'You're not that old.'

'I feel that old,' Tyrion placed his cup down on the table. 'Every night, _every_ night, when do you think they'll get sick of fucking each other?'

'They're in love so short answer, never,' Davos leant forwards and lowered his voice. Not that there was anyone else in the room to hear them, 'Jealous?'

'Well,' Tyrion picked up a crust from his empty plate and began breaking it into crumbs. 'I have been a bit busy trying to overthrow my sister so I confess it's been a while,' he looked up at Davos, 'you?'

'I'm old, I'm not dead!'

'Really?' Tyrion sat up straighter in his chair, 'got your eye on some Wildling girl do you, or perhaps a buxom chambermaid from Winterfell?'

Such people were open to exchanging information for coin, Tyrion knew. If there was even a small chance he could gather some intelligence that might benefit Daenerys he would take it, friend or not.

'I'm married,' Davos's tone clearly indicated to Tyrion that he wasn't the type of man to stray.

'Oh,' Tyrion slumped back into his chair and picked up his cup. 'Congratulations, I didn't know. When was the last time you saw her?'

Davos sighed trying to remember, 'Months ago now, had to return to break the news to Marya about our eldest son's death.'

'How did he die?' Tyrion asked quietly, placing his cup on the table.

'At Blackwater Bay, we were both serving Stannis Baratheon.' Davos swallowed at the memories, 'I made it, Mathos didn't.'

'Oh,' Tyrion pushed his cup away. He took a deep breath before continuing, 'I'm sorry, we were at war and fighting for our very survival. It's no excuse, but people do extreme things in war –'

Davos held up one hand stopping Tyrion. 'I'm well aware what men do to survive in war.' Memories of the Battle of the Bastards flashed through Davos's mind. He had been there when Bolton's men had them surrounded. He had seen men push their comrades under trying to scrabble above the suffocating weight. Men screaming for help as they disappeared beneath the filth. It made him claustrophobic again just thinking about it. 'You know, I think I will take that drink now.'

'Of course,' Tyrion pushed himself away from the table to retrieve another cup. Returning he poured them both a generous serve. 'To your lady wife,' Tyrion declared holding up his cup. 'She must be quite a woman to have put up with you all these years.'

'To Marya,' Davos touched his cup to Tyrion's, 'and aye she is. Even if she does throw the entire contents of the kitchen at me when I come home.'

Tyrion coughed down a mouthful of wine. 'She throws things at you?'

'She worries if I've been away for too long,' Davos drank some wine and shrugged. 'It's her way of saying she cares.'

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at the thought, 'And has she ever _hit_ you when she throws things?'

'Only twice, and both times it was after I had been declared lost at sea. So I suppose I deserved it.'

'Sounds delightful, your Marya.'

'Luckiest thing that ever happened to me, her saying yes,' Davos drank some more, grimacing slightly at the taste. 'What about you? You're a Lord; surely you must be married by now?'

Tyrion squirmed slightly in his seat. 'Dwarves aren't the most popular marriage choices, even if we do come from rich families.'

Davos remained silent, sensing somehow there was more to the story.

The silence stretched until Tyrion finally broke it. 'I've been married twice,' he said. 'I'm not married now.'

'What happened?' Davos put the cup on the table, the rest of his wine untouched.

Tyrion sighed heavily. 'I was young and impulsive, when I first married. I thought I was in love, but the young woman involved was well below my station.' He drank heavily, 'let's just say my father made sure the marriage didn't last. My second was political. A marriage in name only, it was annulled I believe sometime after I fled King's Landing.' Tyrion felt the ship roll to one side, then right itself again, his stomach heaving slightly with it. 'You've met my second wife.'

Davos frowned, apart from Queen Cersei and that lady knight; there had been few women at King's Landing during the summit.

'She is the Lady of Winterfell, now.' Tyrion explained.

'Lady Sansa?' Davos was surprised at the news. 'Jon's sister?'

'It was my father's attempt to secure the North. Of course then I went and killed him and then my family ended up giving the North to the Boltons.' Tyrion's grimaced at that family's name, his hand clenched about his cup. 'My biggest regret was not being able to take Sansa with me, when I fled.'

'He's dead, Ramsey,' Davos referred to Sansa's second husband.

'Almost a pity,' Tyrion snarled, 'it means I can never kill him for what he did.'

'Rumour has it that it was on Lady Sansa's orders he be fed to his dogs.'

Tyrion stopped staring off into the distance and glanced back at Davos, a slow smile crossing his face. 'So she's finally stopped hiding it.'

Davos frowned, 'Hiding what?'

'That Stark steel,' Tyrion answered. 'I caught glimpses of it at King's Landing when she thought no one was looking. She played the timid little maid well, but I knew there was something more underneath. You think the Stark men are dangerous,' Tyrion shook his head in admiration, 'the women, in their own way, are even more so.'

'You admire her.'

'Beautiful, intelligent and now deadly, what's not to like. Now,' Tyrion placed his cup on the table. 'I assume all this marriage talk is leading somewhere?'

Davos leaned back in his chair, 'I don't know what you mean.'

'No,' Tyrion raised an eyebrow, 'you did seek me out after all.'

'Seek you out?' Davos turned slightly and flung his right arm over the back of the chair. 'I come here every night; I thought you were looking for me.'

Tyrion indicated his empty plate, 'I was hungry.'

Both men stared at each other for a few minutes. Finally Davos broke the silence. 'They should get married.'

'Who?' Tyrion raised his eyebrows.

'You know who, dammit,' Davos growled back, 'Jon and your Dragon Queen.'

'She's your Dragon Queen too, now, remember. Jon bent the knee and declared it very publically afterward.'

'The lad does have a flair for the dramatic,' Davos acknowledged. 'But that doesn't change the fact it's the best choice we have.'

'Oh, I agree,' Tyrion said, 'recent wars have left the queen with few eligible choices.'

'The only other man with as good a claim I can think of is your brother, Jaime,' Davos glanced over at Tyrion for his reaction, 'and I can't see Queen Cersei agreeing to that.'

Tyrion snorted at the thought, 'Over her dead body.'

'One could wish,' Davos held up a hand in apology, 'my pardon that was uncalled for. She is your sister.'

'Don't remind me.' Tyrion upended the jug, pouring the last of his wine. It sloshed into his cup as the ship lurched and rolled. 'She's pregnant you know.'

Davos glanced back at the door, 'Daenerys?'

'My sister.'

'Who's the father?'

Tyrion rolled his eyes at the question. 'Who do you think?'

'So Stannis was right after all.' Davos leant forwards over the table. 'And she just came out and told you?'

Tyrion shook his head, 'Not in so many words, but I guessed. Perhaps that's the reason she agreed to help us?' Tyrion drank the last of his wine, 'my sister suddenly has a future to protect beyond the damned throne.'

Davos rubbed his face, 'She's produced an heir, this changes things.'

'Not yet she hasn't,' Tyrion corrected him, 'a lot can happen during pregnancy to both mother and child.' He spread his hands wide, accidently knocking his cup to the floor. 'I'm living proof of that.'

'All the more reason to get this marriage sorted, sooner rather than later.' Davos watched as the cup rolled away across the room. 'Got any good ideas how to tell them?'

'I've found when dealing with royalty, it works best if they think it's _their_ idea. Plant the seeds and wait for it to grow.'

'And how long has your little seed been growing?' Davos asked, waiting until the cup rolled back towards him before bending down to pick it up and place it back on the table.

'Since before we left Meereen.' Muffled shouts from above them briefly distracted Tyrion. Davos was right it seemed the weather was changing and not for the better. 'Daenerys always knew a political marriage would be the fastest way to strengthen her ties to the kingdom.'

'And who better than Jon Snow, with all the North behind him.' Davos said, 'assuming the North Lords accept he bent the knee.

'Will that be a problem?'

Davos shrugged, 'Hard to tell, but I'm sure knowing their man shares the throne will soften the blow some.'

Tyrion shook his head, 'No one shares the Iron Throne, the best they can hope for is Jon standing next to it looking broody and handsome.'

'But his child will sit the throne; believe me that counts for something.'

'Yes, well,' Tyrion cleared his throat, 'that's a whole other set of problems.'

Running feet thudded past the galley door.

'Right,' Davos stood up, collecting the plate, jug and cups from off the table. 'Time to get Jon.' He walked over to the wash bowl and dropped the armful in, where they would hopefully stay safe until after the storm. 'There are no secrets on a ship,' he turned back towards Tyrion. 'But it's one thing to be sneaking around when no one is actively looking, it's quite another when there is a corridor full of sailors to avoid.'

Above them a bell began to sound out its alarm.

Looking up Tyrion saw Davos standing next to the table. 'So we're agreed then?' the smaller man said.

Davos nodded. 'To the King of the North and his Dragon Queen,' with a raised eyebrow and a devilish grin Davos spat on his right hand and held it out.

Without hesitating Tyrion spat on his hand and they shook, 'To the Queen of Dragons and her Northern King. Normally I'd wish them a long and fruitful reign but –' Tyrion gestured to the current state of the world with his free hand.

'Then how about; may they kill all their enemies and fuck like rabbits.' Davos suggested.

Tyrion nodded slowly, 'Elegantly put.' He waited until Davos was at the galley door before adding. 'What exactly are you going to tell Snow?'

Davos opened the door before looking back at Tyrion. 'Thought I'd just appeal to his honour and tell him it's for the good of the Kingdom.'

'Gods save us from a Stark's honour,' Tyrion said, 'no one can live up to those standards.'

The Queen's Hand watched as Davos left in search of his king. He waited until the door was closed before wiping his hand on his trousers. That had gone surprisingly well, Varys had been right. Better to let the Northmen come to them; let them think they had initiated the idea. It would soothe their stubborn pride. Although it could all be for nothing if they couldn't stop the threat beyond the Wall.

Tyrion slid off his chair, grabbing the tabletop for balance as the ship lurched under his feet. Closing his eyes he tried to ignore the churning of his stomach. 'It's going to be a long night,' he muttered to himself. 'I'm going to need more wine.'


End file.
